


the things we do in the dark

by JoanofArc



Series: darejones [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, Rating May Change, Some Fluff, darejones is ruining my life, idk man they're in love, it's no coincidence that that's the ship name, jess and matt are a mess, loosely linked together, one shots, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-13 07:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanofArc/pseuds/JoanofArc
Summary: jessica and matt fix each other up. a series of one shots loosely linked together.





	1. one.

_he crashes through her window._

which, rude. she's just changed that window, after pryce had shot at her and her mom, because winter in hell's kitchen sucks and her apartament is drafty without her window being broken too.

so he crashes through her window and onto her floor, which had been remarkable free of costumed vigilantes bleeding onto the hardwood moments prior. funny, how things can change in a matter of seconds.

he could have used the stairs. or, you know, knocked on her window instead of breaking it. jessica takes a moment to ponder over the fact that this is the first thought that comes to mind when she sees him, not complete and utter shock. he's been bleeding on her floor often enough for it to become common. what the fuck did her life become.

"jesus, murdock." same shit, different names. martyrs are still martyrs beneath the paper thin skin, and they still bleed out the same red.

he gives her a crooked smile, looking absolutely boyish beneath the black material of his cowl, and she heaves out a sigh, then heaves her body out of the chair she had been inhabiting for the previous eight hours, her back protesting the shift in position. she's almost cracked the case she's been working on for the past couple of days, but it's mostly waiting game right now. 

matt, on the other hand, is pretty much high on the priority list, if only because she doesn't want to explain why he's dead in her apartment. 

totally.

"hey, jess," he says, like it's a social call and not him bleeding to death. _the asshole._

she gives him a look that's more exasperation than glare, bending over to shove one hand beneath his back, the other under his knees, and lifts.

"h-hey what are you... what's... _oh."_

he's cute when he's confused. his mouth does that thing where it twitches, and his head tilts to the side to read the environment. jess doesn't bother replying, instead placing his body on her couch with as much care as she can muster. it's not neatly as effective as she would have liked, and he groans as he pulls on the wound.

"i'm gonna take off your mask, yeah?" she narrates, touching her fingers to the edge, because she doesn't know if his spidey senses work well enough for him to know and she doesn't want to spook him. when he nods, she pulls it upwards and off. there's a bruise high on his left cheekbone, and his unseeing eyes try to pinpoint her, landing somewhere between her collarbone and shoulder. his lip is split, but he doesn't seem bothered by the pain when he smiles. what a fucking fucking masochist.

"thanks, jess"

she scoffs. and then scoffs again when he tries to move, halting him with a hand on the shoulder.

"yeah, don't thank me yet. for all that i know, you could still bleed out on my couch. i thought the halloween costume was bad, but now you're out running around in fucking pajamas."

he at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. chastised. she takes his tacit permission to remove his mask as permission to take off his shirt too, and she can't help the way she gasps at the wound on his side. it's ugly, and still bleeding, and looks deep. she can't look at it for more than a couple seconds at a time. 

not that she's particularly squimish, but this looks gross even for her standards.

"it's not that bad -"

"shut up. don't you fucking start with me." something in her voice makes him clamp his mouth shut, or maybe it's the way her heart starts beating fast, anxiety spiking up and burning at her veins. "i'm calling claire," she tries to stand, but his hand shoots out to grab at her wrist, and _nope,_ that doesn't help with the anxiety either.

"no... no calling claire. it's just this one wound, jess, you've done it before," matt tries for a smile, but he looks shaky and pale. there's a layer of sweat across his skin, making it seem almost translucent. even so, he's got that determined look on his face which tells her that if she doesn't comply, he's gonna go back out of her window, probably not seeking any more medical help.

so she stands, prying his fingers from around her hand, and goes to rummage for the first aid kit (for him), and the bottle of whiskey in the drawer (for her. mostly). she takes a healthy swing, then kneels back down next to him.

"if you die on me, i'm going to kill you, matt. seriously." she puts just enough vitriol in her voice to make it an actual threat, but it has him laughing anyway. which... okay, not the best idea, because then he starts coughing, and he's got an open wound in his side, and jess is all kinds of freaked out right now.

she doesn't know what to do, so she settles on rubbing his back, and putting pressure on the wound. she has a feeling she's never going to be able to wash his blood from her apartment. it's starting to look like a murder scene. 

when he finally calms down, he's grimacing so much she thinks maybe he broke something just by having a coughing fit, and she's drank half the bottle. she hates feeling this vulnerable, but she reaches over to push his hair out of his face anyway, shuts her eyes tight to take in a shaky breath.

"-i mean it matt. you _**can't**_ die on me," there is something odd in her voice, like shards of glass grinding together. his hand finds hers against his temple, linking their fingers together and giving a little squeeze.

"hey... jess, it's fine. i'm fine. I survived worse. you just gotta... stitch me up, maybe?" his attempt at humour is undermined by the edge of pain in his voice, but she lets out another shaky exhale, before getting to work.

normally, if this was her own wound, she'd just slap on some duct tape and call it a day, but matt isn't like her. he doesn't have her healing capabilities, and he's not absolved of infection. he's painfully mortal, and jessica watches in sick fascination as she sews the wound shut, his blood coating her fingers. they tremble as she finishes it off.

it's not pretty. she's gotten better at stitching him up since the first time he crashed in her apartment, but the stitches are uneven, and the skin around them is red and angry. his chest is covered in bruises, blooming purple and black across his skin, scars littering his flesh like they're meant to be some secret code she cannot decipher. her chest feels heavy.

she runs her fingers across his scar at his collarbone, watching the blood on her hand smear across his skin. he doesn't flinch back, but his eyebrows furrow.

"jessica -"

"i'm not going to tell you to stop." some of the tension leaves his shoulders at that, and he relaxes into the uncomfortable couch. he looks small like this, which is fucking hilarious, all things considered. matt has always been able to fill up a whole room with his presence, sometimes appearing taller than even luke, and she doesn't like seeing him like this.

"i'm not going to tell you to stop, but you have to be more careful, matt."

"i know," he says simply, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his cheek, so he can nuzzle against it. it's more than she can ask for, this admission. she knows he'd rather let a building fall on him than admit defeat, or anything that may be perceived as weak, and she gets it. this need to be strong, always, to push people away before they see what's beneath that facade of bravado.

but she's already seen though it, and that, ironically, makes her one of the few people he can admit this shit to. one of the few people he'll actually listen to. there's hope to that, at least.

"i'm going to talk to melvin. see if he can make me another suit." his voice sounds sheepish, but she smiles at that and, of course, he catches on. but she lets him trace the curve of her smile anyway, as if he needs her approval. maybe he does. 

nobody's ever needed her approval before, or wanted her opinion. it's a weird sort of responsibility, but she finds that she doesn't really mind it. he's good at taking care of her too, even if she's never going to admit it out loud. 

"that's good. maybe skip on the ears this time." he's careful to huff out a laugh instead of chucking this time, and the coughing is minimal at best. progress, or whatever. she still watches to see if he's pulling at his stitches, just in case. 

matt turns his head to press a kiss to her palm, and she has to swallow back the instinct to flinch back. small gestures of affections have always been hard to digest for her. instead, she bends over to rest her forehead against his shoulder her free hand moving to his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. it beats steady, as opposed to the jumbled mess that is her own heartbeat. alive, it echoes, as if his whole body is trying to reassure her. _alive._

she allows herself this. a brief moment of just breathing together, of feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. but the moment passes, and she's pulling back, giving the hand that's still holding hers a light tug.

"c'mon, devil boy, let's get you washed up and into bed before you pass out all covered in blood."

"eager to get me naked, miss jones?" the smirk is back full force, but hey, if he's joking around it means that he's not dying, so she is going to let it slide. this time.

he relies heavy on her to walk him through the apartment, and then in the shower and, later on, into bed. she curls up against him, her wet hair spread over his chest in dark smoke-like tendrils. his hand traces the line of her spine, soothing little motions, trying his best not to wince when she presses closer. she checks on the stitches, runs her fingers over the bandages, watches him shiver as she lets her nails gently scrap against his hip bone. all is good. 

she still has to replace her window one more time, so she's gonna crash at his place until that's done.

something in the way he smirks at her when she shares that with him tells her that it's exactly what he had in mind anyway. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set somewhere in the beginning of their relationship. they're not quite together yet, but they're getting there. hints of kastle if you squint hard enough. 
> 
> jess gets hurt. matt patches her up.

he expects her to punch him. jessica jones is nothing if not fire, he's felt it since he met her. uncontained. unapologetic. all harsh edges and sharp thorns, protective layers around that soft interior she hides from everyone, even from herself. he's prepared himself for the punch. part of him welcomes it, because foggy and karen had let him off the hook too easily. he deserves penance, to pay for his sins. 

he doesn't expect the silence.

matt is standing in her doorway, bottle of expensive whiskey in hand and glasses on, battle armour even in casual day clothes. but she makes no sound - if he wasn't able to hear the way her heartbeat picks up, the shallow inhale and the telltale spike in anxiety, he'd wonder if she can see him.

he should have known better. there's nothing she misses, especially a dead man standing in the doorway to her office. for some reason, it hurts. the blatant dismissal.

"jess -" he starts, because it's been ten minutes and she hasn't moved, hasn't as much as twitched. it seems to break her out of whatever trance she was into because suddenly she's stepping back, putting distance between their bodies. he hears the leather of her jacket creak as she crosses her arms. defensive.

she's trying to keep him from hurting her, he realises, and there's an odd jolt of pain going straight through his heart. but honestly, he didn't really think she'd care so much about his death. after all, they had been virtual strangers before midland.

matt consciously chooses not to think about the easy companionship they had fallen into, the banter flowing easily.

"get out." 

it's the first thing she says to him, and her voice sounds _off._ like she's barely holding herself together, sandpaper scrapping against her throat. it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he swallow it down, extends the arm with the bottle of whiskey towards her.

she only takes a step farther away, hugging herself tighter. his jaw clenches.

"jess, i'm sorry -"

"i said get out." firmer this time. less like shards of glass grinding against one other and more like the cutting edge of a knife. he knows better than to underestimate the threat. so he gives her a sad little smile but nods his head, turns around and walks away from the office. 

even from this distance, with the elevator dinging, he hearts the shudder in her exhale. 

it doesn't magically get better after that. hell's kitchen is small, and they see each other often, even if jessica never acknowledges his presence. he sends her the bottle of whiskey, and then, exactly a week later, another, more expensive. three weeks from the day he's sat in her doorway, he sends her a new camera.

it's not like she's all he thinks of. he's not a kid in middle school with an unhealthy crush. foggy and karen keep him busy, as they settle into _nelson, murdock and page_ , and then cases start coming, so he barely has time to let his mind wander to the way her small frame had been shaking after she opened the door to find him there.

but sometimes, he'll catch a wiff of her, alcohol and coconut, with the slightest hint of something fruity, and the feeling of guilt in his gut returns.

it's been six weeks and three days since he's talked to her, not that he's counting. six weeks and three days of radio silence, and then her presence hits him like a wave, as soon as he opens the door to the office. she's chatting with karen while foggy is holed up in at his desk, most likely avoiding her. matt understands why he's scared - she can be terrifying at times, but the feeling of unease is undermined by the small hope burning in his chest. 

"- friday sounds good," karen is saying, the muscles in her face twitching into a smile. to his surprise, he hears jessica chuckle under her breath, before leaning over and patting the other woman on the shoulder.

"no beer, page, i'm going to teach you about the wonders of really cheap vodka. maybe you can tell that boyfriend of yours -"

that's when he chooses to clear his throat. karen jumps, turning to look at him, but there's something almost saccharine in the way jessica holds herself, like she's known he was there all along, like she's been planning it.

maybe she had.

most likely she had.

"miss jones," he starts, stepping further into the office. she doesn't move from where she's half draped herself over karen's desk, and he realises with a start that the object she's been tapping her fingernails against is the camera he's bought her.

that she decided not to throw it away is a good sign. matt decides to take it as a good sign, anyway.

"she's brought us a client!" karen says, bright and happy in the way he's missed and he finds himself smiling too, one eyebrow raising in query.

he's noticed a shift in karen over the past few weeks, like the slow unfurl of petals, like she's reclaiming herself from the nightmare that had been fisk and pointdexter and everything in between. 

he wonders if the boyfriend jessica had been talking about is the reason, but he snips that thought from the bud. they've had their chance, and he's fucked it up. he's not going to mess up their friendship, too, not with how they're on truly equal footing now for the first time. 

"did she now?" it sounds far more condescending than he was aiming for, but jessica only snorts, straightening herself and brushing her hands over her jacket, then over the scarf wrapped around her neck.

the scarf. she's wearing the scarf, the one he's used as a mask before. the realisation only makes his grin widen.

"yup. thought i'd get back at you for referring some of your clients to me," it's accusatory, the way she shapes and forms the words like arrowheads, and he wants to bare his chest for her so she has better access. instead, he titls his head to the side, listens to the way her heartbeat skips on a lie.

he wants to call her out on it, but decides not to push his luck. there's only so much grace she's willing to show someone before baring her fangs.

"that's extremely gracious of you." he manages to keep his voice light this time, and the joke earns him another low chuckle. it's not a laugh, but it's a positive reaction, so he'll take everything she's giving him.

"yeah, well, don't get used to it, murdock."

and with that she's gone in a cloud of whiskey and leather, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. he turns to karen, before she notices him still reaching out his senses towards jessica, and the smile turns a little teasing.

"so, boyfriend, huh?"

"i plead the fifth, mister murdock."

he does get used to it. over the course of a couple months, they keep referring clients to each other. she's a damn good private eye, and he's good at what he's doing, so it only makes sense.

but it evolves into something else too. sometimes, when they're working on a case together she is crashing in his apartment, bottle of whiskey in hand as she noisily taps on her laptop. they discuss the case, and then discuss their days, and then order takeout food because jessica's stomach growls and he knows she hasn't eaten in days. 

other times she crashes at his place just because. he's got a tv now, just for her, and they sit on the couch and watch netflix while she narrates what's going on. she's terrible at it. it makes it so much better. 

she lets him touch her, too. little things at first, like holding her arm when they're walking down the street, or not flinching away when they accidentally brush against each other. eventually, she's resting her head on his shoulder while they're on the couch, or tucks her feet beneath his thigh when she's working on her laptop. 

that's another thing he's learned about jessica jones: she's touch starved, and always cold. 

matt knows she hasn't forgiven him for dying on her, not really, but she never brings it up so he figures maybe ignoring it truly is the best course of action. he's sent his apology out in gifts, which she's accepted. that's the end of it.

or that's what the end of it was supposed to be. until she showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night.

he knows who it is before she even knocks - he hasn't decided to go to bed yet, instead working on a case, so he can hear the way she crashes on his rooftop (crashes?! how?!), and limps down the stairs. the first thing he notices is the stench of blood. nothing else matters; he's at the door before she has the chance to collapse against it, her slight frame falling against his chest instead. this close, the smell overpowers his senses, but he knows it well enough by now not to be deterred.

his arms wrap around her body, quivering and frail. for a moment, he sees red. someone's hurt her, someone has dared to do this to her, and the devil rears his ugly head, demanding his lot of flesh. but then she whimpers, and it's such an odd sound coming from such a powerful woman that it's enough to pull him back to the present. 

"jess, hey... hey, you're okay. let's get you inside."

she's not strong enough to do anything but nod her consent against his collarbone, a movement so small anyone else would have missed it. but he tightens his hold on her, maneuvers her gently through the apartment until he can lay her down on the couch.

matt takes a moment to catalogue her wounds. beneath the blood, there's the faint scent of the docks and gasoline. there's gravel sticking to her knuckles, and a wound in her thigh, still bleeding. he's pretty sure that a couple of her ribs are broken, but haven't punctured anything. other than that, the scraps are minor, but by the way her breath comes out in shallow little pants, she's lost quite a lot of blood.

"i'm going to have to cut your jeans and take off your jacket," he tells her, brushing his knuckles over her arm. she nods again, softly, fighting to keep her eyes open, her lashes fluttering rapidly.

he gets to work - it's almost easy to fall into this, although he never really had any experience with wounds other than his own. elektra, perhaps, but stick had been there to walk him through, and thankfully, the scum who got jess didn't have a poisonous blade.

as he works on cleaning the wound on her thigh, he can already hear the smaller cuts closing, bones knitting together - he doesn't know exactly how her healing abilities work, but what really matters now is that they do. that she won't have to be in so much pain for long.

"who did this, jess? who hurt you?" his jaw is clenched painfully. he's concentrating so hard on his work that he doesn't sense her hand moving until it's resting against his cheek, fingertips catching onto the stubble.

"some, ugh..." he wants to shush her, because it's obvious it hurts her, but she shoulders through. "some assholes running a - a human trafficking ring. managed to, fuck." she winces again, as he pulls the needle through her skin for the first time, swearing some more under her breath. he'd smirk if he wasn't so worried. "-managed to get the girls out. but they jumped me. they were like... ten? maybe fifteen."

matt feels his blood boil. he should have been out there tonight - should have helped her. maybe then she wouldn't be the one bleeding on his couch, maybe...

"hey, earth to murdock. i see you spiralling. stop."

he hasn't noticed his hands had stilled until her voice pierces through the red fog. instead of answering, he gives her a little grunt, and goes back to patching her up. it's simple, now that he's found his pace. jessica doesn't complain, beyond the occasional incoherent pained noise, but if he focuses on the task at hand, his mind doesn't wander.

"you wanna go out, huh? break out the fetish gear."

of course she sees through him. she has this almost preternatural ability to do so, to read him as easily as he reads her body. two people who guard their hearts like tiny secrets who can't lie to each other. where does that leave them?

before he can stutter out a reply, or deny the fact, she stills his hands with one of her own. the bandage is smooth enough, he doesn't need to apply more pressure on the wound, but he can't stop fidgeting.

"matt, it's fine."

that startles him. he thought that by now she'd be out of ways to surprise him, but he should have known better. really, he should have never thought himself safe from her all seeing gaze. he turns one hand so he can link their fingers together, listens to the way her heartbeat slows down, second by second. it's calming  his own, gives him something to ground himself on.

"i'm glad you're not dead, asshole." it comes out slurred, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear her lips shift into the smallest of smiles, just a twitch of her mouth.

outside, hell's kitchen is as loud as ever, but in this moment all matt can focus on is that confession. how her heart beats the truth against her ribcage, gentle and jarring.

he goes to reply, when he notices the fact that she's fallen asleep. he chuckles, shakes his head a little, and gets up. he debates the pros and cons of getting her into bed, but ultimately decides for it, careful not to jostle her too much as he walks. the leather jacket gets tugged off, and her skin is so soft, unmarred, even though he knows that she should have as many scars as he does. 

she doesn't move, doesn't give any sign that any of his movements have woken her up, so he pulls the blankets over her, brushes his fingers through her hair. 

"i'm glad i'm not dead too, jess. i'm glad that you're not, either."

a confession whispered into the night, into the darkness, when no one is around to hear it. but as he walks away to go sleep on his couch, he swears he can hear the echo of her smile. 


End file.
